


All the World's a Stage (Except When We're Together)

by kikitheslayer



Category: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, The Tempest - Shakespeare
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Lesbian Character, Post-Canon, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikitheslayer/pseuds/kikitheslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda cares for Ferdinand, but oh, if only she'd seen all the options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World's a Stage (Except When We're Together)

**Author's Note:**

> *casually makes Shakespeare gay*

Miranda is not trying to play the fool. Folly had lead to this moment. Folly _was_ this moment. She cannot blame it on anyone but herself. She is no longer the naive girl of the island.

Yet here she is still, standing in the royal bedroom, ready to break the sacred oath of a wife, a best friend. A queen.

She is standing still, barefoot on the cold marble floor. Her hands are clasped behind her back, brushing against the satin of her heavy gown, red and gold and deep green. Her gentle, honey-colored tresses have fallen over her face, but she doesn’t move to sweep them away from her concerned expression, tight forehead and pursed lips. Her eyes are fixed on the glass doors, watching the violent orange sun dip under the balcony.

A knock.

“Come in,” she calls.

The door opens silently, and in steps Letta, a maid. She is tall but trying to shrink, hunched over a silver tray, her large, dark eyes fixed on the ground.

She shuts the door, and instantly seems to blossom. She straightens up, pushes back her shoulders, and smiles, her gaze still lingering shyly on the ground. She sweeps further into the room, setting the tray on the writing desk.

Miranda turns around and rushes to her. They meet in the middle of the room, and embrace, then pull back, giggly, like schoolgirls.

Slowly, like dripping honey, Miranda leans forward, and presses her mouth to Letta’s. It’s sweet like honey, too, sweet and warm and relaxed.

When their lips part, Letta’s shy smile has turned into a wild grin. She runs her thumb over Miranda’s hand and draws her to the royal bed.

It feels like it should be desperate. Miranda’s heart should be pounding, her vision blurry. She shouldn’t be able to control herself. Then maybe she would have an excuse.

Her hands are steady. Her eyes are not wet. She is making a choice. She is choosing what she wants.

Miranda has not let a liberated day pass where she has not tried something new. But this -- this makes her think of that girl on the island, staring at the horizon of pink clouds, dreaming of the life she would have, if only she could grow scales and swim all the way to the land she knows is out there. For the first time, it feels she is doing right by that desire.

She leans back, letting Letta continue to steal leisurely kisses, she allows her mind to wander, as it is wont to do. There are things she would curse, had she the time. Rash decisions and men with kind faces and soft hearts.

Never mind. This is the boat she is in. Ferdinand will be back within the week. So she closes her eyes and clears her head, not wanting to miss a single furtive moment.

It’s the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
